Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Win The G , by - O.C.. Song from the album Jewelz, in the genre R&BRelease date: 31.12.1996
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: The Island Def Jam
Song language: English
Win The G |
| Who got the |
| Hardest emcee style ever created? |
| Who got |
| Celebrity status and is still underrated? |
| Who got them |
| Two Glock nines that be black and nickel-plated? |
| And I’ll blow a nigga’s chest out to keep me motivated |
| My peripheral sees emcees that ain’t nice with these |
| So all my new rivalries’ll be emcees robberies |
| I got these niggas shook like Shake-N-Bake, cook like |
| I knock your punk ass out, wake you up, and I show you what I |
| Look like. |
| Who’s that emcee that thinks that he can fuck with |
| F-R-E-D-D-I-E? |
| Excuse me, Bumpy Knucks |
| I don’t give a fuck if it’s friend or foe. |
| This shit is my job |
| To let you niggas know, so don’t take it personal |
| When I stick this verse in you, I don’t know what you gon' do |
| Even if you get your crew, I’ll walk through the stage like it’s |
| Ho Stroll Avenue, tapping on them pockets, putting |
| Tabs on your revenue. |
| Now dig this: it’s mad |
| Niggas that be thinking they’re nice with their flow, it’s mad |
| Niggas that be fronting like they’re holding some dough, it’s mad |
| Niggas that’ll challenge me, and, after the show, «They Don’t |
| Wanna Be Players» no mo' like Joe. |
| Niggas |
| Try to come at me with contemporary gangsta |
| Fusion, I’m smashing with the simple shit I’m using |
| Bashing and bruising. |
| Who’s in charge? |
| Bumpy! |
| Step up in my face, I leave your forehead lumpy! |
| Yo, O.C., are you ready to win the G? |
| (The Gusto is coming home with me) |
| (Yo, Bumpy Knucks, are you ready to win the G?) |
| The Gusto is coming home with me |
| Yo, O.C., are you ready to win the G? |
| (The Gusto is coming home with me) |
| (Yo, Bumpy Knucks, are you ready to win the G?) |
| The Gusto is coming home with me, (coming home with me) |
| Coming home with me, (coming home with me) |
| Rrrrahhhh! |
| I bring |
| The pain like a slice to your vein—fuck your fame, platinum |
| And gold plate don’t hold no weight. |
| I be that |
| Prophetic soul-drainer. |
| Ain’t a motherfucker in his |
| Right mind stepping in my cipher, trying to take mine |
| From West Coast to East, I’m full-fledged |
| Bust the science, niggas better know the ledge (Knowledge, boy) |
| O see all, I G. off. |
| Enemy? |
| I spot you |
| Two rhymes to my one verse, you go first. |
| You’re tasteless |
| Face it. |
| I engrave my name in the scalp |
| Like Damien, out for world domination. |
| Don’t |
| Get me wrong. |
| I don’t represent 6−6- |
| -6 figures. |
| I’m just out to make figures. |
| Who |
| Holds the threshold to be the best? |
| I crunch niggas |
| With my gold teeth like vegetables |
| Carnivorous deliverance murder one nemesis |
| Like a virgin, I snatch your innocence |
| Talking bank robberies when you rhyme? |
| Hold up |
| You turn pussy on the mic when I roll up |
| Coca-Cola, I fizz it like soda. |
| While you |
| Say, «Butter,» I’ma say, «Mazola.» |
| Money-folder |
| Hold a grudge, cold like a polar bear hug |
| Niggas, what? |
| Blowing up spots like a SCUD |
| Win the G, win the G |
| Win the G! |
| Rrrrahhhh! |
| Who’s that |
| New York nigga left that be nice like be I? |
| G.I. |
| niggas can’t see I. See, why? |
| You new popping niggas and you crew-hopping niggas step up |
| In my face, and Bumpy be 2Pac-ing niggas. |
| If there’s |
| Bitch up in your heart, I’ma find it. |
| If you think I’m |
| Talking to you, then just rewind it. |
| I got six shots |
| Behind this. |
| Even with a vest on |
| You’re yelling because I aim for the melon |
| I’m a felon, and I bet you never been in a fight—kind of |
| Like you really never said shit on this mic—so if I |
| Diss a nigga hustling, that makes me a displayer, and if you |
| Buy my record twice, that makes you a two-payer, and if your |
| Girl like Donna Karan, that makes her a DK-er, and ‘cause |
| I hate your punk ass, that don’t make you no player. |
| Without this |
| Record business shit, you niggas is broke as fuck |
| Smoking weed, smoking woolies while I smoke your luck, and while your |
| Flow needs medical aid, I just appear on niggas' shit |
| And I still get paid. |
| Now where’s my G, nigga? |
| What |
| Niggas’ll think they’re made of steel and want to play brave? |
| Bitch emcees will find theirself in a grave |
| I make slaves of niggas in ways never made |
| Voice like an Ox or, better yet, sharp as a blade |
| Intense the moment like sex when I’m boning |
| Iller than Caligula brainwashed the Romans |
| I set it. |
| Let it be known: better beware, better be careful |
| Who dared to oppose my phenomenal flows? |
| How dare you? |
| I smite your ass quick, fast like Flash running |
| Past your ass, niggas’ll end up with whiplash, but for |
| The moment, I’m zoning. |
| Any opponents, I’ma cut it |
| Short right now because this rap shit? |
| We own it |
| Come up off that cash, nigga |